I Am Human
by MidnightRain101
Summary: My life was controled by my mother, but he saved me. Friendship took us a long way, and it even made me runaway from my fears. I am no longer a controled zombie because of him...OneShot


Everything I said and done was wrong in her eyes. Perfection was a virtue. There was a certain way I should walk, talk, and live.

Being wealthy wasn't ever easy, and I had to admit to it. To the world I was perfect, not a single strand of hair out of place, but to her I was a pitiful being.

My life was completely controlled by my mother. She was a stern woman, who believed that looks matter the most, and second was your wealth.

Every morning I had to squeeze myself into a dress far too small for my form, and live without breathing for the rest of the day.

Beauty was painful when it came to wearing a corset. It was the most painful thing you'd ever experience through being a rich woman, and all I wanted to do was be free.

My father was a kind man, who respected my wishes. He took time to listen to my thoughts, and help me struggle through my problems.

And then there was him. I wasn't quite sure who he was, but I saw him everyday. He stood on the corner of Mr. Peddleton's shop. He held up newspapers and called out the headlines.

At times I'd just stand and watch him, but never have I dared to approach him. He seemed to notice me too, since he always looked my way and tipped his hat generously. He had deep gray eyes that seemed to spark an interest in me, and a cane hung loosely at his side.

He was powerful, I can tell you that, and very handsome. I notice many of the girls giggling once he passes them, but he walked with ease, ignoring them completely as if he were in his own world.

I didn't keep my hopes up though; because he was know to be a "womanizer," as everyone would say. I didn't believe it at first, but after watching him walk into many different bars and come out drunk, a girl clinging to each arm, I felt a bit awkward.

I stood at five feet five, eighteen years old. I walked by my mother with my head held high, just as she told me to do. We neared the corner of Mr. Peddleton's shop. I licked at my lips, the only sign of me being human.

My mother past the boy like he was some kind of old rag, but I stared straight at him. He watched me closely as I walked past him.

He, as always, tipped his hat, but this time he held a newspaper out to me.

"Buy a pape, Miss?" he asked, his rough Brooklyn accent rolling off his tongue. I stopped dead in my tracks, lost of words. He raised his eyebrows. "Miss?"

"Oh," I said. I reached into my little purse and searched for a penny, and finally found one.

"Gabrielle," my mother said sternly, turning around. I quickly handed the boy the penny and took the paper. I then walked away, but kept glancing back, smiling to myself as he watched me.

"Gabrielle, what have I told you?" mother asked without looking at me.

"To never associate with homeless people," I said clearly, yet sadly.

"Why did you disrespect me?"

"Forgive me, mother," I said. I lowered my head and followed her to the church. It was Sunday, another day for giving God our thanks for life.

My mother wasn't religious, but acting like it gave her a good name. I, on the other hand, prayed every night, and during meals.

We entered the church slowly, my mother making sure that everyone saw her. We sat in one of the pews and listened as the reverend preached, his voice echoing off the walls.

After church had ended we walked back by Mr. Peddleton's corner, but he was gone. I sighed sadly and slowed my pace. Him and I were two different people, so why did I care so much?

My mother then came to a stop and began to chat with a few of her "adult" friends, father now at her side. I didn't know where he went during church; probably writing another one of his books.

I hid myself behind mother so her friends wouldn't beam down at me, telling me how lucky I was to be a Smith. I stared down at the ground and looked at my shoes. So perfect in every way known to man, yet so ugly in my eyes.

Something then caught my eye, and I turned my head to my left. Sitting on the stoop of a building was the newsboy I had grown so fond of, just staring off into space.

He soon noticed me and tipped his hat, a smirk playing across his lips. I nodded my head to acknowledge his existence. He then looked around him and soon rose to his feet, motioning for me to follow.

I furrowed my eyebrows and looked up at my parents. They were going to be busy for awhile, so why not? I turned away from them and walked in the direction the boy had just walked.

I looked around, not able to find him. Somebody grabbed my arm, making me jump, but I eased down when I noticed it was only him.

"Hi there," he said kindly.

"Hello," I said, trying to hide my emotions like him. He smirked and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Spot," he said. "Spot Conlon." He held out his hand and I took it.

"Gabrielle Smith," I said. Spot nodded,

"I know who youse are." I tilted my head.

"You do?"

"Yep," he nodded. "Yer Judge Graham's granddaughter." I sighed,

"Yes, I am." Why he was talking to me, I did not know, but he was intimidating. How brought chills up and down my spine in a way nobody else could.

"Would ya like ta come to a party tonight?" he asked.

"Uh," I hesitated. "I don't know."

"It's at Roy's bar, if ya interested." He then tipped his hat and strolled away, not even sparing me a glance. I smiled to myself.

That night I stared out my window, debating whether or not I'd go. I then made up my mind and quickly changed into a skirt and a loose shirt, not caring about those damned corsets.

I climbed out of the window, nearly breaking my leg, and crept away from the manor.

I walked through the silent streets, not sure exactly where I was going. Luck saved me as I approached a place called Roy's, and slowly entered.

There were boys flooded everywhere, dancing on tables, and playing poker. I bit my lip, already not fitting in, and began to look around for Spot.

"Heya toots! Come sit with me," one boy told me. I gave him a disgusted look and continued to move through the crowd.

Just when I was about to give up, the powerful newsie came into sight. He sat at the bar, flirting with about six different girls, making them giggle uncontrollably.

He was facing me; his arms rested on the bar, a glass of beer in hand. I brushed my hair out of my face as he soon noticed me, and just like that, the girls vanished in his eyes, and I was the only girl there.

He stood up and placed the glass of beer onto the counter, leaving the group of jealous girls and walking over to me.

"Youse came," he said over the talkative people. I shrugged,

"I never pass up an invitation." Spot chuckled and looked around.

"Wanna take a walk?" he asked. I bit my lip and nodded, following him out of the bar. It was chilly as we walked on the sidewalks to nowhere.

It was actually comfortable to be in his presence, yet weird. Neither of us said a thing as he lit a cigar and puffed smoked out from his mouth.

"So," he said. "Why'd ya come?"

"Because you asked me to," I said, not knowing if this was some trick question.

"But youse don't know me. For all youse know I could be a killer," Spot said.

"But you're not," I told him, glancing up at his face. He had a blank expression, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his cigar.

"How do youse know?"

"I just do," I said. Spot chuckled as we walked into the night.

"Gabrielle," he said as if admiring my name. "I like it." I blushed slightly, another sign of me being human. I smiled slightly as I lost direction, not knowing where we were.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around.

"On da side of Brooklyn dat youse rich people never wanna go to," Spot said. I sighed, and decided to give this place a look.

It looked way different from the other side of Brooklyn. Every thing seemed a bit less clean, yet more exciting. There was more life on this side; unlike those living zombies my parents call friends.

"It…looks interesting," I said. Spot threw his cigar to the ground and simply walked over it.

"What makes youse different?" he asked out of the blue.

"Pardon?"

"How are youse different from da rest of dem rich folks?" I laughed slightly, adoring the way he talked.

"I don't know," I said truthfully. "Do I not fit in with them?"

"No," Spot said. "Youse actually stand out more den youse think."

"Really now? So my disguise doesn't work?" I grinned, ah, something else that say's I'm human. Spot laughed slightly.

"Youse don't need a disguise. Its clear dat youse don't like being like dem." I shrugged,

"I don't have any other choice. My mother controls my life." Spot raised his eyebrows,

"Why do you let 'er?"

"Because she puts a roof over my head," I told him.

"Well, dat's one reason, but it ain't a good one. I mean, da newsies can give ya a roof too."

"What makes you so different? I mean, here you are, walking beside one of Brooklyn's rich girls, not caring who sees."

"It don't matter if people see youse with me; but youse might wanna worry 'bout people seein me with youse," Spot said. He was right. If my mother saw me just looking at him, she'd have a heart attack. I merely shrugged,

"It doesn't matter to me anymore…"

Since that cold, windy night, I spent more and more time with Spot Conlon. I sent him glances when my mother wasn't looking, and we'd talk with our eyes.

Most of the time he'd send me funny faces, making me laugh out loud. My mother would send me dirty looks, but I ignored her.

I was fond of Spot Conlon, and I grew attached to him. I snuck out whenever I could to take nightly walks with him, and just to get away from my painful life. For the first time ever, I felt human.

My liking for Spot grew and grew each time I saw him. But, we were still in two different worlds, so technically it could never work out.

Fate brought us a year of friendship, and goofing around. Spot was now labeled as my best friend, and he even taught me how to shoot a slingshot.

I snuck away from my parents to go to the docks whenever I could, and sit and talk with the newsies. I had a knack for storytelling, and even the older newsies loved to hear them.

"Stacey walked across the creaky floor, trying her best to keep quiet," I said in a mischievous voice. The boys around me got closer to hear what would happen next.

"And then suddenly bam! He came out of nowhere, hitting her in the head with a piece of wood!" The boys "oohed," and "ahhed," with interest and I continued the story, sitting on the fish smelling docks.

"Gabrielle!" a voice called. I looked up and stared oddly at Spot.

"What is it?" I asked, standing to my feet.

"A man, up there, watching youse!" he said, pointing in the direction of a building. Standing on the roof of Eddie's restaurant was a man wearing a black suit, and I immediately recognized him to be my mother's friend, and not to mention the man she was having an affair with.

My eyes suddenly widened.

"She has him spying on me!" I yelled. The boys sent each other worried looks as Spot and I took off in the direction of my house. Maybe I could make it back in time…or maybe not.

By the time we reached the other side of Brooklyn we were huffing and puffing, and right outside my house stood the man's horse. He beat us!

The front door swung open, and my enraged mother stormed out.

"Gabrielle!" she yelled. I glanced over at Spot.

"Go," I whispered.

"But-"

"Just go. Meet me tonight at the docks after midnight!" Spot nodded and took of, glancing back at me.

I turned back to my mother who was struggling in her heels to get to me. Without warning she struck my face. I blinked a few times, surprised at what she had just done.

"How dare you disobey me!" she yelled. I swallowed and looked down.

"He's my friend, mother," I said.

"You don't need friends; you have money!" I shook my head and walked past her and into the house. "Don't you walk away from me!" she yelled following me. She slammed the door shut behind her, and grabbed my arm.

"Stop it!" I screamed. "I am sick and tired of you!"

"Oh, you're sick and tired of me? Look at you; you are me!"

"I am nothing like you! You're cold hearted, cruel, and mean!" Tears coursed down my face as I turned away from my mother and ran upstairs to my room.

I pulled a bag out of my closet and began to stuff it with clothes and other valuable things. I put my silver key around my neck and picked my bag up. Everything was dead silent on the other side of the door.

I took this opportunity and opened it, walking out. There was no way I was going to survive climbing out the window with this bag full of fragile things.

I stopped dead in my tracks when my father walked out of the study. He stared at my briefly and began to walk my way. Before walking by me he sent me a wink, and I stood there frozen.

"Look out for John," I warned him about the man mother was cheating on him with, without turning around. My father began to hum to himself as if he never saw me, and I slowly crept out of the house, and began my long walk back to the other side of Brooklyn.

By the time I reached the docks it was past midnight, and a form stood at the end. I quietly approached him.

"Runnin away, I see," he said.

"It's for the better," I told him. Spot nodded as I set the bag down. Without hesitation I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him down to my lips, not kissing him yet. We stood there for a moment, not doing anything, our lips not even an inch apart.

And in the blink of an eye, Spot filled in the small space.

After that night I became a newsie on the streets of Brooklyn, and soon married Spot. My mother passed by me everyday, not recognizing me in my old, rag clothes, but my father did, and sent me a wink.

I am human, thanks to Spot Conlon…


End file.
